


Into the Woods There is Hope

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon takes Illya back to his family's summer cabin for a little R&R.   Neither man was expecting a visitor... especially one who had passed many years before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Woods There is Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [georgiamagnolia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiamagnolia/gifts).



 

_So into the woods you go again, You have to every now and then. Into the woods, no telling when,  
Be ready for the journey_

Stephen Sondheim – Into the Woods

 

The car’s tires crunched on the gravel as the vehicle slowly came to a stop.  Napoleon was out the door a micro second after.  He took a deep breath and let his head tip back, smiling as the sun warmed his skin.

“Ah, smell that air, Illya,” he said as his partner climbed from behind the wheel.

“It smells like pine air freshener.” Illya struggled to keep his face dour.  It did his heart good to see Napoleon so happy.  Napoleon Solo was a man of the world, but now, Illya was reminded that Napoleon was also a man sprung from cultivators of the soil.

“Not freshener, my friend.  This is the real deal.”  Napoleon laughed and flung his arms out wide.  It was good to not have to worry about keeping up a persona here.  Illya knew him for the man he was and Napoleon was delighted to let that man out to breathe and live, if only for a few days.  “My family used to come up here every summer for years.  Then suddenly one year they just stopped.  I was a junior in high school and no one would ever tell me why.  Dad said it was expensive and they needed to save the money for my education.”

“That sounds plausible.”  Illya opened the trunk and hefted out a cardboard box of supplies.  They’d stopped at a small store on the way in and bought everything that they thought they might need.  It was good to know, though, that should they run out of a staple, like coffee, the store was just a few miles away.

Napoleon reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the cabin.  “It should be pretty quiet out here now.  Most of the families have left and it’s just the hunters.”  By habit, he went to the kitchen door and unlocked it.

“Hunters?”

“Deer season.  So if you go into the woods, make sure you wear something bright.”  Napoleon got the door open just as Illya staggered up with the box.  “You can put that on the table.” 

At Illya’s glare, Napoleon returned to the car to haul out their suitcases.  The last thing he wanted was Illya to descend into one of his funks and ruin the week.  He turned sideways to let Illya pass and carried the luggage into the cabin and through to the bedroom. 

So many half-formed memories cascaded back suddenly.  He’d spent many summers here, swimming in the lake, learning to trail blaze with his uncles. Napoleon stopped then as snatches of conversations tugged at his memory.  The old man at the counter had muttered, “Bad business, those Solo boys,” but Napoleon, in a hurry to arrive at the cabin before dark, ignored him.  Now it niggled at him.

He exited the bedroom just as Illya was closing the kitchen door.  “You have a most perplexed look on your face.  What’s wrong?”  Illya asked as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“I was thinking about what the clerk at the store said.”  Napoleon glanced over at the fireplace, noting there was a stack of wood to one side.  “What bad business?”

Then Illya was in his arms, kissing him and Napoleon let the thought fade as their tongues collided.  They had made a pact to never let their private life interfere with work.  That meant on assignment or in the office, romance was strictly off-limits.  Napoleon suspected Illya was as frustrated and anxious as he was for a little one-on- one action.

“How… private is this place?”

“At this time of the year, very.”

“Excellent.  I am going to make you scream.”

                                                                                ****

Illya stirred, reluctant to release his hold on sleep, but eventually he got one eye open.  The only illumination was from the fireplace as they stretched out on blankets and pillows in front of it.  Rolling slightly, Illya winced as he hit a cool wet spot.  They’d have an enthusiastic bout of lovemaking and those rug burns weren’t going to be doing him any favor tomorrow.  Still, they were a small price to pay for the sense of contentment that followed and the look of peace on Napoleon’s face.

Illya had been worried about coming here.  Napoleon had been so excited and yet there seemed to be a sense of misgiving as well.  Coupled with what the store manager had said, Illya had feared the worst.

Instead he’d ridden Napoleon until both of them were crying out each other’s name in ecstasy and completion.

Beside him Napoleon was still asleep, his hair impossibly mussed and looking very serene.  It was good to have some time off together to just eat, sleep, make love, read, or anything else that came their way.  Illya was pretty sure that Napoleon had a similar agenda, if slightly rearranged.

He glanced at his watch, surprised that it was only six.  Already the night had closed in around the cabin.  For a moment he contemplated just going back to sleep, but then his stomach gurgled.  That woke up his bladder and it protested as well.

Illya found his tee shirt and pants and hurriedly pulled them on.  The living room was warm enough, but Illya was willing to bet the bathroom was chilly.  Barefoot, he padded to it, shivering as he opened the door.

He flicked on the light, happy with the knowledge that the place at least had electricity and flush toilets.  When he stepped back out into the living room, he noted that the fire had burned down to a glow and the pile of logs was depleted.  A rumble of distant thunder told Illya that the storm clouds they’d outrun had nearly caught up to them.

Dinner was definitely in the near future, but Illya decided some wood might be a better first stop.  It would save them from going out later in the rain for it.  Besides, he had other plans for working off dinner.

He pulled on his shoes and grabbed his jacket before reaching for the knob.  He’s taken one step out onto the stoop when he saw the young man.

He was standing on the path leading to the parking spot, swaying and with blood pouring down his face from a head wound.  Seeing Illya, he took a stumbling step.

“Help me,” he implored and Illya nodded.

“Of course,” Illya answered without a pause.  That was what he and Napoleon did, after all.

“Help me.”

“I’ll help you and so will my friend.”  Illya glanced over his shoulder.  “Napoleon, I need your help!”  He didn’t repeat himself; he knew Napoleon would hear him.

Illya looked back at the young man.  He’d retreated a few steps back towards the cars.  “I need help.  My friend…”

“I understand.”  Illya took a step back into the kitchen to grab a flashlight, registering Napoleon’s sudden presence. 

“What’s going on?”  Napoleon was pulling on a flannel jacket over his tee shirt.

“A guy’s been hurt.”  Illya turned back, but the path was empty.  “He couldn’t have gone far.  He said his friend was hurt, too.”

“Hello?” Napoleon shouted.  At the lack of a response, he sighed.  “Probably passed out.  I’ll take around the cabin, you head for the cars.”

                                                                                ****

“I don’t understand,” Illya muttered, not for the first time as he moved his green beans from one side of his plate to the other.  “I know I wasn’t dreaming.”

Napoleon glanced up from his plate as he reached for his beer.   “I didn’t say you were.”

“He was there, Napoleon.  Just as plain as day.  I saw him.  I heard him.”

“If he’d been bleeding as badly as you say, we would have found a blood trail, but there was nothing.”  Napoleon pushed Illya’s plate closer.  “Now eat.  That was part of the Old Man’s instructions.  Rest, regroup, and relax.”

Illya gave up on his green beans and poked his fries around with equal enthusiasm.  “I just… maybe I’ve finally cracked.”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation.”  A loud rumble of thunder nearly drowned him out.  “I think I’m going get that wood now.”

“Want a hand?”

“No.  I want you to eat.  You need to keep up your strength.”  Napoleon gave him a sly smile and Illya snorted.

“Like I couldn’t keep up with you.”

Napoleon laughed and got up from the small knotty pine table.  He carried his plate to the sink and rinsed it off.  Grabbing his flannel shirt, he pulled it on and headed out into the night.

After just a few steps from the kitchen door, the dark enveloped him.  The tree stood black against a dark blue, cloudy sky.  Every once in a while, the moon tried to peek through but it was immediately swallowed by the thunderheads.  It was silent except for the rumbling of the oncoming thunder and the hiss of the wind through the pine branches that preceded the storm.

Napoleon walked to the woodpile and began to gather up some wood.  Suddenly, he heard something, a voice, whispering, “You!”  It felt as if his chest was caught in a vice, clamping it until Napoleon was certain he could feel his ribs crack.  He couldn’t breathe and he fell to his knees.

His hand caught a metal washbasin and it clattered to the ground.  Then, as abruptly as it started, it was over and he heard Illya’s voice, worried and artificially loud in the night.

“Napoleon?  What’s going on?  Are you okay?”  Illya’s voice was close, then it faded as another voice drowned him out.

“You’re mine!”

“Help…”  The word was strangled out of him as the pressure enveloped his chest again.  He groaned and slumped to the ground.

He woke to a gentle patter of rain on his face and Illya calling his name.  Napoleon sat up and rubbed his chest.  Taking an experimental breath, he cleared his throat.

“I’m over here.”

Illya’s flashlight beam found him.  “What are you doing way over here by the cars?  The woodpile is on the other side of the house.”

“I… I don’t know.”  Napoleon got to his feet and looked around for his bearings.  Sure enough, he was just a few feet from their sedan.  “Illya, I was at the woodpile.”

“Then how?”  Illya paused.  “Sleepwalking?  No, you weren’t gone long enough for that.”  The rain was starting to pick up in intensity.  “Let’s grab some wood and get inside.”

Napoleon nodded and let Illya lead the way back to the stacked logs without offering an explanation.  There was nothing amiss as each of them loaded up on fuel and headed to the kitchen.

By the time they reached it, the sprinkles had become a downpour.   They were both drenched to their skin and Illya quickly dropped his armful of firewood and began to strip off.

“That anxious to have me, are you?”  Napoleon joked.  He was more careful with his wood, but he was shivering by the time he got the wet shirt off.  Illya draped his clothes over a chair and then turned back to his partner.

“Napoleon, what on earth happened to you?  Did I do that?”

“What?”  He looked down at the large bruises forming on his chest.  “I can safely say you had no part in it.  Sit down and let me tell you what happened.”

 

                                                                                ****

                                                                                               

Napoleon rowed the boat back into the dock and used the oar to push him closer to shore.  The sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds.  It was cool, but the higher humidity kept the air soft.  He tied up the boat and carefully climbed out on to the dock.  For just a moment, he was fifteen again and feeling very proud of himself for having caught breakfast for his family.  He felt as if he was a provider and it filled him with a sense of purpose, much as UNCLE did now.

He pulled up his pouch, filled with trout and headed to the cabin.  When he left, Illya was snoring away.  Napoleon had left a note _gone fishin’_ on his pillow.  As he opened the door, he saw the note in the middle of the kitchen floor.  Added to it in Illya’s familiar scrawl – _I fear for the fish_ and Napoleon laughed.  Between the calmness of being on the lake and his partner being close at hand, his good humor was restored.

 He heard the shower running and knew his partner had surfaced.  They had stayed up late last night, talking and trying to figure out exactly what was going on before having the discussion fade into lovemaking.  Without conscious thought, Napoleon’s hand dropped to his bruise-covered chest.  Nothing they came up with made any sense to explain the bruises away.

Napoleon woke once during the night, swearing he heard voices mixed in with wind and the rain.  It was his intent to head back to the grocery store today and see if the owner would talk with him.  The comment the man had made tickled Napoleon’s memory and he was determined to solve this mystery sooner than later.

He dumped the fish in the sink and quickly cleaned them, making sure to deposit all the garbage into the outside garbage bin.  As a child, he’d made the mistake of dumping the fish heads and guts into the kitchen trashcan.  He never made that mistake again.

Washing the fish smell from his hands, he toweled off them off and headed for the stove.  There was coffee brewing and it filled the small kitchen with its aroma.   He carried the pot and a hot pad to the table.  Pouring himself a cup, he held it to his face and let the steam warm his skin.

He’d gotten three or four swallows put away before Illya walked in, wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt.  He was toweling his hair as he moved.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, bending down for a kiss.

“My dad used to say that right after the rain was a good time to fish.  I figured I’d give it a try.”  He gestured to the counter where the fish lay, filleted and ready for cooking.  “Since I caught, you can cook.”

“All right.”  Illya poured more coffee into his mug before walking to the counter.  “What are your plans for today?”

“I thought I’d go to the store.”

Illya dumped some flour, salt, and pepper into a swallow dish and then heated up a black iron skillet.  “The last time I cooked fish, I had a match, three pieces of wood, and a gale-force wind at my back. What did we forget at the store?” 

“I want answers, Illya.  I have a feeling that guy knows more than he’s letting on.”

                                                                                *****

“I don’t know nothing!” Napoleon studied the grocer, Guy Miller, calmly.  They were in the back of the store, huddled around a stove.  Illya stood a few feet away, splitting his attention between them and the store’s door.

“I think you do, Mr. Miller,“ Napoleon said.  “When I first came in, you made a comment about Solo boys being bad business.  I want to know what you mean by that and I’m not leaving until I do.”

“You look just like him, you know.”

“Who?”

“Your Uncle Hawthorne, but we all called him Haw.”

“I don’t have an Uncle Hawthorne.”

“You did… once upon a time.  I surprised you don’t remember him.  You two were thick as thieves.  Wait a bit.”  Miller grunted as he stood.  He shuffled over to a desk buried in an avalanche of paper.  He worked a drawer open and dug around in it for a few minutes.  With a little cry, he found what he was searching for and moved back to the warmth of the little stove.  “Here you are, about six, I think.”  He passed a creased photo to Napoleon.  Inseparable.  Folks called you Mutt and Jeff.

He took it and gasped.  Napoleon was looking from photo both as an adult and a small child.  “How is this possible?”

Miller shook his head in amazement.  “You really don’t know?”

Napoleon closed his eyes.  His memories of the camp were mostly in bits and bobs.  He could remember sitting around a campfire with his family singing and roasting marshmallows or of sprawling out on the rug on the screened-in porch reading comics while his father and grandfather played chess.  He heard his mother laughing… and then crying as his dad and a State Trooper held her.  The memory made him catch his breath and he frowned.  He remembered a man who had taught him to fish and even hunt.  He’d taught Napoleon basis survival skills that would later save Napoleon’s life.  He always made Napoleon laugh.  Then suddenly he was gone and his parents refused to acknowledge that the man existed.  After a while, even Napoleon had forgotten him.  “That was my uncle?” he whispered.

“You do remember him now, doncha?”

“My mother was crying… but I don’t know why.  My dad made me go and pack up, even though we still had a month to go.”   Illya had abandoned the front of the store to take his place beside Napoleon and Napoleon stared at Illya.  “My dad… my dad said that there was a mix up and we needed to leave.  I thought he meant about renting the place.”

“There was a mix up all right, but you never knew the truth.”  Miller reached for a pipe and lit it.  “It was bad business.”  He gestured to Illya.  “Turn that sign around to closed, son, and draw up a chair.  I suspect this involves you as much as Napoleon here.”

Illya did as requested and flipped around a chair.  Settling into it, he turned his attention back to Miller.  “I am here.”

“They have different words for it now, but when I was a young man, we called it being light in your loafers.”

“Pardon?”  Illya looked very confused.

“Gay, Illya.  It means being gay,” Napoleon said.  “Are you telling me that my uncle was gay?”

“And he did a pretty good job of hiding it.  He was what many folks thought was a man’s man.  I reckon he was more than most suspected.  He used to come every summer to spend with your folks and he’d have himself a little fling while he was here.  It was usually kept on the QT, so the locals sort of looked the other way.”

“Until?”

“Until that last summer.  You were about fourteen or so.  Haw had been doing a lot of work with the young fellas here and then one of them told his folks that Haw had been making overtures to one of the other fellas.   The young guy looked to be about fifteen, but he weren’t.  He was of consenting age, but that didn’t stop everyone around here from getting plenty riled.”  Miller paused to puff on his pipe for a long time.  “Back then, things were different.  Lots different.”

“Just skip the details…”

“A gang of locals found them together and beat the tar out of the boy.  Your uncle, he took off.  The poor fella staggered to your folks’ cabin to try and get some help, but no one would lift a finger, either from fear or unconcern.”

“I can’t believe that of your parents, Napoleon.”

“My thought is that they were asleep and didn’t know what was happening.  Your folks were good people, but not so much your uncles. Dusty, that was the fella’s name, he died on the path leading to the parking lot, cursing out your uncle and all his kin.  Next morning they found your uncle swinging from a tree.   Suicide carried a real stigma back then.  Your folks just packed up and left, put the whole thing behind him.  The locals, we just don’t talk of it much these days.”

“Wow,” Napoleon whispered.  “I had no idea…”

“So now you know.  You get something out of it?”

“I saw him,” Illya said abruptly.  “I saw the boy… Dusty?”

Miller laughed.  “Okay, you are a bit touched then.”  He sobered at Illya’s solemn expression.  “No, I do believe you’re being serious.”

“I am.  I saw him a couple of nights ago.  I went to get Napoleon and when we came back, he was gone.”

“Huh, I wonder what made him rise up.”

“I wonder what made him attack you,” Illya said to the solemn Napoleon.

“Maybe he was angry,” Miller suggested.  “After all, you look just like your uncle and he abandoned the boy.”

“What happened to the men who beat him?”

“All dead.  A little odd, that.”

“Why?”

“There were six of them and all of them were found with their chests crushed in.”

For a long moment, there was just the ticking of the clock and the crackle of the fire in the stove.  Then Napoleon cleared his throat.

“Illya?”

“Yes, Napoleon?”

“I’m not one to run from a fight.”

“Never said you were.”

“And neither are you.”

“I hope not.”

“What are your opinions of ghost hunting?”

“Never met one I didn’t like.”

 

                                                                                ****

 

“Are you sure about this, Napoleon?”  The wind whipped Illya’s hair from his face and tore at his clothes.

“Not really, but I can’t leave this the way it is now.”  Napoleon was standing on the path, close to where Illya had first spotted Dusty’s ghost.  “I need to try.”

“He nearly killed you the last time.”

“You stopped him before, I’m sure of it.”

“I wish I could be.”

The trees were outlined black against the encroaching night and Napoleon took a deep breath.  “Dusty?  Dusty, can you hear me?”

Nothing happened and Illya shuffled his feet, kicking up leaves.  “I think he’s gone.”

“I don’t.  He’s here, I can feel it.  Dusty!  Can you hear me?”  He turned back to Illya. “Maybe it’s too early in the evening or maybe he’s just a coward.”

Illya’s eyes widened and he pointed behind Napoleon.  “There he is.”

“Help me.”  The figured half stumbled and then growled when Napoleon spun.  “You!”  He took a stepped towards Napoleon and Illya stepped between them.

“No, not him.”  Illya spoke firmly, his gaze never leaving Dusty’s.  “This isn’t Hawthorne.  This is his nephew, Napoleon.”

“Doesn’t matter.  I died, he dies.”

“Hawthorne is already dead.  They killed him, Dusty.  They killed him before he could come to help you.  He tried.  He wanted to, but they wouldn’t let him.”

“It’s true, D.”

The voice made Napoleon and Illya both turn.  Miller was standing there.  “Hawthorne loved you, son.  He came to get me, but they were waiting.  Beat me and took him.  They killed him, D, and I never told no one.  They strung him up.  He died calling your name, son.”

“Dad?  Daddy?  Why?”

“For a long time, I was scared, too scared to talk.  Then they started dying and I knew why.  I didn’t think it mattered, so I just let it be.  But I was wrong, D, and it’s time for both of us to let go.  Time for you to rest.  Time for me to let folks know what really happened.   The ones who wronged you, they’re long gone now.  These two, the only crime they’re guilty of loving each other so much that they woke the dead.”

Napoleon flashed Illya a glance and Illya hunched his shoulders.  “I didn’t realize…” Napoleon started.

“No one did until you came to talk to me.  The love in your eyes for each other, no way to hide that and then I knew what had happened.”

Dusty took a step off the path.  “I see… I see something.  No, someone.  It’s Haw.  He… he says I need to follow him.”

“Good.  You do that, son.  You deserve some happiness.”

Dusty started to walk away, then paused and held out his hand to his father.  “He said you can come if you want.  He says you’re tired, too.”

“I am, but there are some wrongs that need to be righted first.  You go along, son.  I’ll be there in a bit.”

Dusty laughed then and ran, his arms open.  Gradually he faded from sight. For a long time they stood there in the dark as the wind buffeted them.  “I do believe I will have my first good night’s rest in years.”

“You’ve been carrying that burden for a long time,” Napoleon said softly.

“I have and I’ve got you two to thank for freeing me of it.”

“How did you know I was going to confront him?”

“You are more like your uncle than you will ever know, Napoleon.  He would have never run away and I knew you wouldn’t, either.  So, I did what I couldn’t do all those years ago.  I came to my son’s rescue.”  Miller shivered and pulled his jacket tighter.  “Now, if you fellas don’t mind, I think I’m gonna head home.  I’m too old to go traipsing around in the woods.”

“Would you like to come in for some coffee?” Napoleon asked, gesturing towards the cabin door.

“Naw, I reckon you fellas have more important things on your mind than entertaining an old man.  Just, for the sake of your neighbors, you might want to keep it down a little.”

Illya suppressed a grin.  “We’ll keep that in mind.”

                                                                                ****

“This it?”  Illya hefted up the last box from the table.

“I think so.” Napoleon glanced around the cabin and sighed.  “This is going to be a vacation this will be difficult to forget.”  He ran his fingers over the paneling and sighed.  “I guess Thomas Wolfe was right, not only in that you can’t go home again, but I don’t think you should even try.  Home is what and where you make it… and with whom.”

“Don’t try to sweet talk me.”  Illya headed for the car.  “You lost that game fair and square.  You are driving.”

“You stacked the deck.”  Napoleon closed and locked the door, then glanced back towards the woods.  It must have been a trick of the sun and the breeze, but he could have sworn he saw two people standing there, two people who were very happy and very much in love.  He smiled and hoped it wasn’t just his imagination.   Everyone deserved to be with the one they loved, alive or dead.


End file.
